Because You Are The Good Man
by brighter than sunflowers
Summary: "I help where I can. I will not fight." "Because you are the good man, as you call yourself?" "I call myself the Doctor."


**Because You Are the Good Man**

 _"_ _The war between the Daleks and the Time Lords threatens all reality. You are the only hope left."_

 _"_ _It's not my war. I will have no part of it."  
"You can't ignore it forever."_

The orange light of the late evening lit the city street. Well, if the term "city street" could even be used. Every building was fallen, the road filled with debris. Any sane life form would have fled long, long ago.

A man made his way across the pavement, eyes moving from one wreckage to another very quickly, as if trying to avoid eye contact with everything. It wasn't surprising that he, who had done nothing to prevent the ruin of his own planet, could hardly bear to look at it.

"Doctor." The tall man with the short curly hair turned at the sound of his name. A convenient shadow hid the person from view, but the Doctor had no trouble in recognising the voice.

"Ah, Lady President of Gallifrey, what can I do for you?"

"Don't, Doctor," commanded the short, blonde woman, coming out from her covering of shadow.

"That is your title isn't it? Just being respectful." Ever imperial, Romana ignored his slight.

"Doctor, we – I need your help."

"What could the High Council possibly want with me?"

"It's not the High Council that needs you. I do."

"Hmm, is that Lady President speaking or Romana?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"Yes."

"Romana, then," she said, moving closer to the Doctor, "I need your help. We all need your help."

"With what?" Romana laughed, the lack of humour made the sound deeply unsettling.

"Look around you – what do you think?"

"Ah," the Doctor said as though he had just been struck by some bizarre pantomime realisation. "You want me," he stepped away from Romana and began to pace back and forth across the ravaged steed, "To fight the Daleks."

"Yes. Does that amuse you?" She asked coldly, looking at his face, which had arranged itself into something like a sneer.

"Oh nothing, nothing funny at all, I just never thought I'd hear Romanadvoratrelundar asking me to commit murder."

"Doctor –"

"Line me up with her little band of soldiers, killing, until they themselves are killed –"

"Doctor!" Romana shouted, stopping him in his tracks. "Are you volunteering to be the first ambassador to negotiate with the Daleks? Because let me assure you, that position is wide open." She silenced the Doctor for a moment, but only for a moment.

"I don't like your methods."

"And you think I do? The Daleks are coming in larger and larger numbers – we don't have a choice."

"There is always a choice," he said, remaining stock still, "And I've made mine."

"Hundreds of Time Lords and Gallifreyans are dying every day. Will you not help your own people? Your own planet! It's us or them."

"It's still killing, call it what you like, that's what it really is." Romana stepped close to him again. Although she was much smaller than he was, her presence seemed to overwhelm him. Her eyes burned and she said measuredly,

"None of this would ever have happened if you had completed your mission for the Time Lords and exterminated the Daleks on Skaro, like you were supposed to." A nerve was struck so hard it was visible. The Doctor stiffened, then filled with fire.

"I did not commit genocide then and a will not now!" He shouted in Romana's face. She took a step back.

Her friend had always had an edge, that was true, even when she travelled with him, but now… Well of course, now he was a different man. She wasn't exactly the confident 125 year old she had been when she first met him, either. A companionship once sweet now spoilt with time and change. Time and change, the two things neither of them could escape.

"I might have guessed," She said turning from the Doctor, as aristocratic as ever. Time Ladies never lose their composure. Especially if they're president of Gallifrey. Especially if their name is Romanadvoratrelundar. Even if on the inside, they're falling apart.

The Doctor stood, watching his old companion turn from him. He couldn't say that he regretted his words, but his delivery… perhaps. For a moment, he watched her go, but his infernal mouth, that he could never seem to get control of, called out,

"Romana!" She turned back to face him and his feet moved toward her without checking with his brain for consent. "Romana," he repeated hushed and desperately, "Romana, I'm sorry, but I can't, I just _can't_ , don't you see –"

"I do." He was a different man, but not, perhaps so different as she had thought. "I might have known," she continued, "Doctor. Healer." The said physician took both of Romana's hands in his.

"I can't fight," he paused, "But if there's ever any need for a doctor, let me know." Romana nodded.

"You're a good man," she removed her hands from his and turned back to duties that commanded her attention, "We always need those."

 _"_ _I help where I can. I will not fight."  
"Because you are the good man, as you call yourself?"  
"I call myself the Doctor."_

 **A/N:** This is a story I wrote almost a year ago, when I had the pleasure of meeting the man himself, Paul McGann (who, by the way, is as wonderful and beautiful as you would imagine and I would like to live that moment over and over again). Around that same time I had just finished the Key to Time season, which is, in my opinion, one of the best series of Doctor Who full stop. I then became fascinated with the interaction that these two characters _must_ have had with each other during the Time War and thus this story was born. It took me a long time to buckle down and type it, but at last, here it is. I hope you enjoy.

Emma.


End file.
